


Three Crosses

by tcs1121



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medium Length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-29
Updated: 2002-12-29
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcs1121/pseuds/tcs1121
Summary: From the desert heat and from the heat of anger, two souls find their destiny.





	Three Crosses

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

Author: TCS1121  
Feedback:  
URL: <http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/xfilesfanfic/ff.html>  
URL for Three Crosses is:  
<http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/xfilesfanfic/ThreeCrosses.txt>  
Category: Guilty Pleasure AU, MSR  
Rating: R  
Archive: As You Wish  
Disclaimer: Characters recognizable as X-Files characters  
are owned by 1013 and Fox  
Authors Note: Written as a response to a challenge at the  
Haven. This is my Guilty Pleasure. Throwing tomatoes at  
the author is not permitted.  
Elements of the challenge listed at the end.  
Summary: From the desert heat and from the heat of anger,  
two souls find their destiny.

F. W. Mulder picked up a ladle, and stirred the thick, bubbling liquid. The ranch cook went into the kitchen tent, and came out with a big pot of coffee, and two loaves of black bread. In the dim evening light, brown sludge burbled in the deep cast iron pot, and pieces of unknown animals rose to the surface and sank again.

"Old man Spender goes on a "buying trip" to San Diego last month," the cook ranted. "Packing his dice, cards, and pearl handled revolver, and returns with a wife young enough to be his daughter." Melvin wiped the corner of his mouth with his dirty sleeve. "It just ain't fair." 

"Mel, it wasn't meant to be. Even if you'd gotten the chance to toss the dice across the table from Spender, you're luck's not as good as his," F.W. said grinning. "She'd never have gone home with you." The cook glared before turning to grab two coffee mugs off the table behind him. 

F.W. was tall, lean, and copper-skinned from the relentless sun. His bright eyes crinkled, as he smiled and shook his head. In leather chaps and denim jeans, his light blue cotton shirt was unbuttoned, falling open at his chest. He'd rolled his shirt- sleeves above the elbow, innocently exposing scars created by skirmishes he'd lost with barbed wire, cactus needles, and mustang broncos. A warm desert breeze ruffled his sun-lightened hair. 

"You think that's how he got her?" Melvin asked. "Won her in a poker game?" 

F.W. shrugged, and stirred the pot, trying to decide whether he was really hungry enough to eat what was in there. 

"You've seen her, and you know what I'm talking about." The cook said, as he grabbed the heavy ladle from F.W.'s hand. "She's as pretty as a cactus flower, and hot as the desert floor at noon. She talks nice to me. Spender doesn't deserve her." 

"Yeah, I did see her once," he said, looking toward the big house. "Spender doesn't let her out much." 

"Prob'ly the sun. I swear, F.W., her skin's so light, she'd sunburn in a heartbeat." He sighed. "She sure is pretty." 

"Like a cactus flower, so you said. I'll have to keep a lookout for her," he said, making the decision, and picking up a spoon. "Seems like you've seen her more than anybody else has. But remember, my friend, she's the bosses wife." 

"Yeah, yeah." Melvin spat on the ground, then splashed a dipper of the brown mess into a bowl. F.W. tore a big chunk from one of the loaves, and put it on top of the brown stuff. Taking the tin mug filled with strong, thick coffee, F.W. winked at the cook, and ambled away. Far out of sight of the bunkhouse, where the ranch hands and cowboys called home, he came to a dark corner between the large, flat rocks in the high ground of the desert. 

Every night, he sat on the rocky ground looking down at the back of the big house. Sometimes it took a while, so he ate while he waited. 

F.W. Mulder was accustomed to the hot, dry, desert air, but knew that Spender's wife was not. The Arizona territory was a world away from her San Diego home, and each night, when F.W. caught a glimpse of her, she looked sadder, and smaller than before. He knew that she waited for the sun to set, and the temperature to drop before sneaking out of her huge timber frame home. 

'I wonder what she's wearing tonight,' he thought as he squinted through the heavy twilight, and trained his eyes on the house. 

The back door opened a crack. F.W. saw a brief line of light as the door opened and shut quickly. He put his dinner bowl in his lap, and held his breath. 

She was delicate, but not fragile. Her mane of red hair was piled loosely on the top of her head, but some wavy red tendrils curled around her shoulders and down her back. She walked lithely into the cooling desert, the same warm breeze lifting the crinolines and silks, baring her ankles and calves. 

Every time he saw her, he was sure she couldn't be real, that if he reached out to touch her, she'd melt away, or turn into shadows. And he thought that very same thing ever since she arrived at the Three Crosses Ranch, because he'd watched her every night from this spot in the desert. 

F.W. sat still, pressing his back up against the rocks as far away from the full moonlight as possible. Kate Spender looked up into the night sky, spread her arms, and breathed the desert air deep into her lungs. 

'She is magnificent,' he thought, as the moonlight beamed off the white sleeves of her outstretched arms. He didn't blink as she unbuttoned her shoes, and took them off. Reaching her hands high above the hem of her skirts, he saw the pale skin of her thighs as she unhooked the garters, and released her stockings. She leaned against the doorframe, rolled her stockings off one at a time, and tucked them into her shoes. She tested the ground with her bare foot, and sighed as she wriggled her toes in the coarse sand. She held onto her shoes with one hand, and gathered the layers of her skirt's soft fabric with the other. 

"Kate!" A gravelly voice called. "Kate, are you out here?" 

She froze, and both shoes fell to the ground. One high-buttoned shoe rolled under a row of low-growing chaparral, and she went down on all fours to retrieve it. 

"What did I tell you, Kate?" Spender's voice boomed. "What are you doing outside?" 

"Nothing, husband. I just came out to get some air." Even from this distance, F.W. heard her voice tremble. 

"You've gone out again? After I told you not to?" Spender's body blotted the light coming from the house. He took three long strides toward her, and yanked her up by her elbow. "What's this? Taking your shoes off, and going outside without asking me? Are you expecting company?" He turned his head side to side. 

"No, husband, I swear! There's nobody here, I--I don't even know anyone else. My shoes--my shoes had sand in them, so I took them off." 

"And your stockings, too? What if one of the ranch hands saw you stocking-less! That is unacceptable for any woman, and certainly unacceptable for my wife!" He removed his belt with the large silver and turquoise buckle. 

"I'm sorry, husband. I'm sorry--Cedrick." She scrambled to put her bare feet into the shoes. 

"Children play in the sand. If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to have to treat you like one." Cedrick Spender grasped the delicate silk fabric around her neck and tore the blouse away--pearl buttons bouncing on the sandy ground. 

F.W. jumped up, spilling the hot meat muck down under his chaps and into his blue jeans. 

It took F.W. a split instant to understand what was happening, for the blows came sudden and fast. Glued to his patch of sand, wedged between two large, flat-topped rocks, he watched with glazed eyes as his employer used his belt buckle to lash the soft skin off the back and shoulders of his pretty, young wife. 

* * *

Juana Montoya opened the heavy oak door to the big house. 

"Buenos dias, Senor Fox." She looked tired, but politely stepped aside. 

"Morning, Juanita." He said, as he slipped by her. Juana smiled at the use of the diminutive for her name. She was in her fifth decade of life, and well over 200 pounds. 

F.W. saw Spender leave the Three Crosses before dawn. It was Langly's job to make the deliveries to the big house, but it wasn't unusual for F.W. to show up with a variety of barrels, boxes and crates. 

Langly's last job was "Ringo," the rodeo clown. But he ended up scaring so many of the children, that he was forced into what he called 'ranch servitude.' It wasn't difficult for F.W. to bribe him out of the delivery job this morning, especially since one of the crates was especially heavy. 

"Gosh, Juana, that coffee smells good," F.W. said as he placed the biggest crate in the front parlor. He put the smaller boxes in the large pantry off the main kitchen. "If you pour me a cup," he leaned down, and smiled boyishly, "I'll put whatever is in here away for you." 

"Senor Fox, if you put all this away for me, I will make you a big breakfast of huevos rancheros!" She lowered her voice. "Senor Spender will not be home until late tomorrow night, so he will not catch you eating in his kitchen." 

"And what about Mrs. Spender?" he asked casually. "Would she mind finding one of the ranch hands in her kitchen?" 

Juana pressed her fingers to her lips, and her dark eyes clouded over. Juana did not like her employer, but F.W. knew she had a good job, and didn't want to jeopardize it by talking out of school. 

"Senora Spender is not feeling well. She is sleeping." She turned away. "I sent the rest of the house staff home, since Senor is away." 

"All right," he said with a fake smile. "I'd really like that breakfast then. It'll probably take a while to get this done, so I'll just go ahead and start here." He started popping nails out of the lid of the big crate. 

Juana paused, and looked at F.W. seriously for a moment. He waited for her to say something, but she sighed sadly, and walked into the kitchen. 

F.W. bounded up the steps two at a time, and stopped on the upper landing. He'd been upstairs in the big house once before, and glanced up and down the long hallways, remembering the layout. The huge master bedroom was at the end of the right corridor, and took up most of the upstairs living space. The large windows, filtered with white gauze gave the master bedroom a bright panoramic view of the desert. When the sun got too fierce, heavier material could be rolled down to cut the glare and heat. Smaller rooms were to the left, where the guest rooms and Spender's office were housed. 

He turned left and walked down the corridor, away from the master bedroom, gently opening the door to the guest room at the far end of the hallway. 

Juana had cracked the window open, but drawn the heavy drapes. The dresser and windowsills were lined with eucalyptus leaves, cloves, iodine, and aloe stems. The scent of menthol and camphor mingled in the dim, stuffy room. Everywhere he looked he saw home remedies: a clove of garlic, a piece of hemp, bundles of herbs, a burning candle, a bottle of whisky, a bible. No one had called a doctor. 

Curled up in the double bed, a small, pale figure moaned softly. She was covered lightly with a rumpled cotton sheet, and there were bloodstained towels beneath her shoulders. F.W. took a step closer and saw sweat glistening on her face, dripping down her neck and chest, as she trembled in little starts and stops. 

"Christ, what did he do to you?" he whispered. Taking the basin of water, and a cloth from the dresser, he knelt at the edge of her bed. The water was lukewarm, but he dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and patted her face and neck. She stirred, and opened her eyes a crack. 

Her eyes went wide, and she recoiled, then hissed in pain. 

"Shh--shh--Don't be afraid." He pressed the cloth to her hot cheek. "I'm going to help you." 

"He did this to her." Juana's voice shook from the doorway, and her eyes were wet. "He beat her, and beat her. After she fell to the floor, too weak to get up, all he said was, 'I'll be back tomorrow night. No doctor.'" 

Juana went to the whimpering woman. Kate's eyes were shut, but she reached out one arm. Juana took her hand, and said, "Senora Spender, do not be afraid. This is Senor Fox. I know him, and he is a good man. If he says he will help you, he will help you." 

"I swear it." He turned to Juana. "How bad is it?" 

Juana shook her head, and whispered to Kate, "I am sorry, missus, I will have to move you." 

Kate opened her eyes, looked at them, and nodded. 

It was difficult to tell whether it was the belt buckle, or the leather strap that had done the most damage. Her back and shoulders bore the brunt of her husband's rage, but her neck and upper arms didn't escape his belt. The beating must have continued long after she was dragged into the house. The lash had torn into the skin over and over, and chewed out pieces of the flesh beneath. The damage was ghastly. If she lived through this, her back would display t he memory of these injuries forever. The wounds were inflamed, and infection had set in during the night. 

F.W.'s eyes filled, as he helped Juana gently turn Kate Spender onto her side. Every touch made her gasp, but instead of crying out, she said, "Thank you, Mister Fox," and tried to smile. 

He blinked. "I will help you." Tears dropped down his cheeks. "I swear it." 

* * *

Jonathan Byers, MD, distrusted the upper class. With his tall frame, and conservative dress, he could pass as one of them, but F.W. knew this soft-spoken physician was mildly paranoid, and highly suspicious of people who hired others to do their work for them. 

Byers's paranoia would work to F.W.'s advantage, because Dr. Byers spoke to very few people socially. F.W. Mulder was one of the exceptions. They were from the same New England city. Boston. 

"Where are we going? What will I need?" Byers asked, as he packed his black doctor's satchel. 

"To the Three Crosses Ranch. And take everything you've got. It's bad." F.W. paced in the moonlight. He'd waited until after dark to bring the doctor back to the ranch. The ranch foreman was loyal to Spender, and if a doctor were seen entering the big house while the master wasn't home, then Big Walt Skinner just might report it to him. 

"What happened?" Byers shouted. 

"He beat her for walking barefoot in the sand." F.W. pulled rolls of linen bandages, and half-filled brown and green bottles off the shelves and stuffed them into his saddlebags. 

"Slow down, Fox." 

"We can't slow down! I'll pay you whatever you want, but we've got to go right now!" 

The doctor grabbed the ranch hand by the arm; causing F.W. to drop the cotton batting he was packing. He looked up at Byers, angrily at first, then his face fell. 

"He beat her, Jon," he said softly. "He beat her, and now she's dying." 

* * *

Melvin handed a steaming bowl of chili to Big Walt. It was peppered, and seasoned fire hot, the way Walt liked it. Then Mel produced another pint of dark ale from inside the cook's tent. The foreman was happily occupied, while Langly guarded the back door. Within a very short time, the cook, the ex-rodeo clown, and the physician became partners with a purpose. 

F.W. and Dr. Byers slipped into the back of the house. Juana hadn't left her mistress's bedside all day, fighting a losing battle against fever and infection. 

"I have been washing her with cool water all day, but she gets hotter and hotter, Senor Medico." Juana's chin quivered, as she ran a gentle hand down Kate's cheek. Kate opened her eyes halfway and began mumbling into the pillow. 

Byers examined the delirious, young woman, trying not to jostle her too much. 

"Fine, Juana, you've done fine. Can you help me roll bandages?" Byers asked softly. He turned to F.W., trying to swallow his rage by briefly closing his eyes. 

F.W. picked up the sponge, and began a valiant attempt to cool Kate off. 

"Mrs. Spender? Hey,--Kate," he whispered. She opened one fevered eye. 

"Remember, Kate? Remember I promised you I'd help? I brought Dr. Byers here. He's going to make you better. It'll be all right." He ran the sponge over her forehead. "You're going to be all right." He flinched when his fingertips smoothed her sweat-soaked hair away from her face. 

"Jon, she's burning up." He swallowed thickly. 

"I know she is. What kind of barbarian is Spender, anyway? How could anyone do something like this?" Byers shook his head, and faced F.W. "The infected wounds caused the high fever. If we don't get her temperature down soon, she will die." 

"No." He shook his head. "That can't happen." 

"We need to get the fever down first, and then treat the infection. We need to get her into some cool water. Is there a bathtub where we can submerge her?" 

Juana said, "No, Senor Spender sent for a bathtub for Senora Kate, but it is not here. It is expected soon." 

F.W. stood up. "Those crates I brought in this morning." He turned to Juana. "Is one of them the bathtub?" 

Juana stood, and looked up at him. "Si! It could be. Senor Spender wanted it near the kitchen, for heating the water." 

F.W. knelt at the bedside, his face inches from her pillow. "Hold on, Kate. Please--hold on." To his surprise, Kate's warm hand reached up and touched his cheek. Her eyes flickered open briefly, before her arm dropped to the bed. 

As he stood, the doctor asked, "Fox, how long have you known Mrs. Spender?" 

"I just met her today," he said rushing out of the room. 

* * *

After the war with Mexico, and after the Gadsden Purchase was made a few years later in 1853, all of Arizona had become part of the United States. 

Now, in 1866, copper and gold had been discovered in Arizona, and stagecoaches made their way in and out in a constant stream. The Native American's were systematically being robbed of their land, and the Apache and Navajo nations were putting up a fight with the settlers over it. These battles distracted the rest of the territory from the War Between the States, which was currently being fought in the East. 

Men came to the West to seek their fortunes as adventurers, farmers, businessmen, builders, and prospectors. But Fox William Mulder came searching for his destiny. He just didn't know it at the time. 

Life in Boston was comfortable, but shallow. His mother pretended to be the grande dame of arts and letters to her quilting club, and Mr. Mulder pretended to be the good husband and caring father to his drinking buddies. Both parents failed miserably in real life, but excelled in their fantasies. 

"Life is real here," F.W. had said to Melvin once, after a long day. 

"Yeah, real hot, real sweaty, and real smelly." He spat a small, brown blob of tobacco into the fire. "Eat your stew." 

The ranch cook, ranch hand, and ranch clown had finally finished setting up the heavy cast iron bathtub in the empty pantry. As Juana replenished pot after pot of cool well water, filling the claw-footed tub, F.W. tried not to be afraid. 

His search had ended; he'd found his destiny, but she was one floor above him, holding on to life by a hot, silver thread. 

* * *

"Gently, Fox, gently." The doctor unfolded two long lengths of calico and linen, and four large towels, and laid them out on the kitchen table. A poultice was brewing on the stove. 

F.W. cradled Kate's sheet-covered body close, as he carefully stepped down the long staircase. Her eyes were closed, but her body was tense in his arms. 

"Even in the winter, the sun shines almost every day." He spoke softly into her hair, as he took one slow step down after another. "We have more than three hundred days of sunshine a year. And the desert, Kate, I love the desert. It looks alive, like a beautiful, living creature, when the sun angles down on it in the spring. I want you to see it, Kate. I want to show it to you." 

The bathtub was half full and prepared to receive F.W.'s precious cargo. He held her shoulders and supported her head, while Langly took her legs. Together, they lifted her over the lip of the tub, and into the cool water. 

"What did that bastard do to her?" Melvin whispered fiercely. "Jesus, she's torn to ribbons." 

"We can take it from here." Byers eyed the cook, and the two ranch hands. 

Melvin and Langly turned to leave, but F.W. shook his head. 

"I'm staying." 

"I'm sorry, Fox, but it isn't proper. Mrs. Spender is a married woman, and Juana and I will have to completely undress her to make her as cool as possible. Then we'll have to apply the balm to her bare body to kill the infection." 

"I'm staying." 

"Fox," he said sternly. 

"Stay," a small voice said. 

Kate's eyes were open, and all eyes turned to her. 

"Please." She repeated, looking blearily at Fox. "Let him stay." 

He knelt down at the head of the tub, looked at her, and smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere." 

Byers sighed, but held his tongue. Juana carefully unwrapped the sheet that was modestly covering Kate from chest to toes. The cloth stuck to the open wounds, and Juana slowly swished the sheet until the fabric floated away. 

"I am so sorry, Senora. I try not to hurt you." 

Kate nodded with her eyes tight shut. Tears appeared at the corners of her lids, and she bit down on her lip. F.W. reached into the cool water, and took her hand. Finally, the sheet billowed in the water above her naked body, and Juana scooped it away. 

Kate squeezed his hand, and F.W. kept his eyes focused on her face, and not let them wander lower than her chin. He cupped water in his free hand, and dripped it onto her face. She inhaled, and exhaled, slowly opening her eyes to look at him. 

"Thank-you, Mr. Fox," she whispered, then shut them again. He let go of her hand, and felt her hot cheek. 

"Keep talking to her, Fox," Byers said, as he stirred some linseed oil into the concoction heating in the big pot on the wood stove. 

"What are you cooking?" Talking was a good idea. If he kept talking, he had a chance of keeping his eyes where they belonged. 

"Dr. Joseph Lister found a way of fighting infection, and I have the recipe. Talk to our patient, and see if you can get her to take little sips of water. After her fever breaks, Juana and I will apply this putty to her back and we'll take the calico and linen, and wrap it in place." 

F.W. looked down at the patient, and lost the battle with his eyes. She _was_ magnificent, he confirmed. Even ill, her beauty was breathtaking, ethereal. With her eyes gently shut, her arms floated weightlessly out by her side, and her legs parted and closed, as the water swooshed around them. The tips of her breasts broke the surface of the water, and he had to stifle the urge to softly kiss each one. 

"Kate?" he asked hoarsely. He had been sitting on the floor for hours, propping her head up, while Juana baled out the warm, and poured in the cool water. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Kate, can you hear me? Please talk to me." He took her hand again. This time, she closed her fingers and nodded. Her eyes opened, and she began to shiver. 

"Jon! What's happening?" F.W. tried to keep his voice calm. Kate was shivering in earnest, and it was painful to watch. Each movement caused her poor skin to stretch, and she cried out in little gasps. He looked up at Byers, ready to yell at him to do something. 

The doctor sighed a small smile, and said with relief, "The fever's breaking. Thank God." He turned to Juana. "We'll have to get ready. In a little while, her fever will be down, and we can start. You know what to do?" 

"Si, doctor." She handed F.W. a clean sheet. "Senor Fox, will you hold Senora while we put on the medicine?" 

"Of course." 

Kate was alert, and shivering quietly in the tub. 

"Mrs. Spender," Jon said. "You fever has broken, and now we're going to take you out of the water. Juana and I will wrap your wounds with an antiseptic, and Fox will hold you while we do. It will sting." 

She nodded, then held her arms out to F.W. 

F.W. looked to Byers. When the doctor nodded, he quickly lifted her out. He settled her into his lap, carefully wrapping the dry sheet around her, leaving her back exposed. Her body trembled as he hugged her close, and Juana carefully dried her off with the towels. Her skin was warm, but the fever's heat had already begun to dissipate. 

"I know what you've done for me, and the risks you've taken," she said, trembling into his ear. "And I can't begin to repay you." 

'I'll give you my whole lifetime to try,' he thought. But instead he said, "You don't have to repay me, just get well." 

* * *

After Juana and Byers applied the antiseptic, F.W. held Kate in his lap, her head against his chest, and his chin brushing the top of her head. Juana went upstairs, stripped the moist and bloody sheets off the bed, and replaced them with clean, white cotton. She opened the curtains and the windows, now that the sun was setting, and took away all the smelly home remedies. 

Kate took several sips of water, and grew sleepy. F.W. carried her upstairs, tucking her lightly into bed. She slept soundly, wearing layers of calico to cover the carbolic acid and linseed oil ointment, beneath her sheer cotton gown. 

As evening fell, Juana became agitated. She turned to Byers, "Gracias, Doctor Byers. Thank you for saving Senora Kate's life, but Senor Spender will be home soon. He said no doctor." She faced the others. "So, please, thank you, but you must all leave." 

The tub had been washed out, and the kitchen cleaned. All signs that a life-saving procedure occurred were erased. 

Byers turned to go, then said to Juana. "You did a good job tonight, Juana. If you ever leave the Three Crosses, you can come work with me." Juana's mocha skin blushed pink as Byers said. "I'll keep in touch with Fox about our patient. And Fox will keep in touch with you." 

"Gracias, Doctor. Gracias. Now go!" 

F.W. shook his hand warmly. "Thanks, Jon. I owe you." 

"Be very, very careful about this, Fox. You're on dangerous ground, here." Byers stepped outside, and off the porch. Langly was mounted, and had the doctor's horse ready for him. Byers stepped into the stirrup, and swung into the saddle. They nodded, and rode toward town. 

"You must go, too, Senor Fox," Juana said, as she wiped her hands of the hem of her apron. 

"I will. I'll check on her one last time, and then leave. I promise." He climbed the stairs, and turned left. 

He knocked softly on the door before opening it. Kate lay sleeping on her right side, with her back facing the open window. Tip-toeing over to the bed, F.W. felt her cool forehead. When he stroked her cheek, she opened her eyes. 

"It's been a long couple of days," he whispered. 

"I meant what I said," she said softly. "I know I can never repay you, but, please, let me try." She held out her hand. He clasped it, knelt by her bed, and kissed her palm tenderly. 

"Kate, you can't stay here. You could have died." He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "You almost did." 

"I know." Her eyes shone in the moonlight. "I married Spender, because I was the good daughter; doing what my father bade me. He said he knew what was best for me, but he was wrong. I need to follow my heart." She cupped his chin. "My heart knows what's best for me." 

He closed his eyes, and caught his breath. When he opened them, she was gazing warmly at him. 

"I don't know if being with me is what's best for you, Kate, but it's better than staying with him. It's not fair for me to ask right now, and it may be the worse decision you'll ever make." He moved close, and whispered into her ear. "But," he hesitated, then looked steadily into her eyes. "Come away with me, Kate. Let me care for you. Let me love you." 

He knew how crazy it sounded, and he blushed wildly before daring to look at her again. Her lips were parted, and she stared at him, her wide blue eyes glittering in the soft light. She began to nod silently, as the big front door slammed opened downstairs. He heard Juana's nervous voice greet the master of the house. 

"Good evening, Senor." 

"Well? How is she?" Cedric Spender's voice boomed. 

"She--uh--she is much better, Senor. Much better." 

"Well, see that? All that caterwauling you did, and she'd going to be just fine. Now where is she?" 

"She has been very tired since you left, and she is asleep. Please, Senor, can I get you something to eat?" 

"What is this? Who put this in here?" 

F.W. knew Spender was talking about the tub in the kitchen pantry. He squeezed Kate's hand and said, "I'll be right back." She gripped his hand, and shook her head. He touched her lips with his, smiled, and gently pulled away. 

He walked down the hall, planning to go downstairs and confront the bastard. As he got to the top of the stairs, another baritone answered. 

"I did, sir. The tub arrived yesterday, and I had it installed immediately. Does it meet with your approval?" 

"Oh, you did it? That's all right, then." Spender chuckled. "Hiring you was one of the best things I've ever done, Walt. You're always on top of things; looking out for my interests." 

Spender turned, hung his hat on the rack beside the door, and added, "The missus is a little under the weather right now, but I'm sure she'll appreciate your efforts. I bought the tub as present for her, you know." Spender lowered his voice. "I can probably persuade her to show _you_ a little appreciation when she's feeling better. She's spirited, but I've got her under a tight rein." He chuckled again. "Besides, I like to keep the good help happy. You do like her, don't you? And she _is_ a pretty little thing." 

"Yes sir, she is." The initial shot was deafening, followed by one or two short ricochets. F.W. ran to the doorway and saw Big Walt Skinner leaning over Spender's fallen body. For good measure, Walt placed the muzzle of his revolver up against Spender's gray silk cravat. "Your wife is not a 'thing,'" he said, and pulled the trigger again. 

"Why?" F.W. asked, stunned. 

"I saw what he did to her. You aren't the only one who watched her in the desert at night." Walt holstered his revolver, and explained. 

"Tonight, I waited at the train station until he arrived, and followed him back. I thought I might have to take Spender down on the way home, when we passed Langly and the doctor riding towards town. I waited in the dark, stalking him like an animal. But I wanted to wait until he got into the light. I wanted him to see that it was my gun shooting him down. I pretended to be loyal to that bastard because it served my needs." He shrugged. "But you have to draw the line somewhere." 

"What happens now?" F.W. asked. 

"When she's well enough to travel, take her far away from here. Cedrick Spender made enemies in high places, and as his wife, she's in danger from them. Go further west, to California, or south, into Mexico." 

"I have lots of family in Mexico," Juana said suddenly. She must have seen the whole thing. "They will keep you safe, Senor Fox." 

"You both will have to change your names and identities, because you are ultimately going to be blamed." He gestured to the bloody body on the floor. "I don't want it to fall on you, so I'll do all I can to protect you both. Spender had enemies, but he also had some powerful friends. I've been around a while, so I'm not going to be a suspect. I can help you from here." 

"We can't do this to her, Walt." 

"There's no choice, Fox. Besides, you knew what you were coming down the stairs to do." Walt looked F.W. in the eye as he spoke. "I just pulled the trigger first." 

He nodded. "But, I'll go. I'll take the blame, and she stays here. This is her home and property; she's a rich woman now, and had nothing to do with that." He pointed to the body. "You can protect her, Walt." F.W. turned to the door. 

"I'm coming with you." Kate said from the top of the staircase. F.W. looked up and saw determination flare in her eyes. And something else. A softer emotion. 

"Kate, no. I have to leave, but you don't." 

"I'm coming with you," she repeated. She slowly descended the stairs, gripping the handrail, one shaky step at a time. Juana took a step up, but F.W. was faster, meeting Kate on the stairs, and taking her by the arm. 

"Do you have any idea of what you're doing?" he asked. 

"Mr. Fox, I know you have reason to question my sanity, considering who I married." She looked down disdainfully. "But I know what I'm doing. I want to go with you--if you'll have me." A worried look crossed her face. 

"My God. If I'll have you? My God." He leaned down, and kissed her on the third step. "You're everything I want. I didn't know it until yesterday, but I know it now. Are you sure?" 

"I have never been more certain of anything." She stepped onto the floor. 

"We'll be on the run. People will think we're criminals." 

"I've been searching my whole life." She took his hand, "And I didn't know for what, until I met you. You've been searching, too, haven't you?" 

He nodded. 

"Then we don't have a choice," she said simply. 

"No, no, we don't." He cupped her cheek with one hand, the back of her head with the other, and kissed her soundly. 

"During the next few days, while Mrs. Spender recuperates," Walt said to Juana, "We'll make arrangements. Nobody will miss Spender for a while, but eventually, I'll have to come up with a plausible explanation for his absence." He stopped, and looked at the two searchers that destiny had placed together, and sighed. 

"Juana, contact your relatives. Tell them that a young couple will be needing their help." 

"Si, Senor Walt, I will. What should I tell them? That they are Mr. and Mrs. Fox?" 

"No, they'll have to blend in. Kate will have to change her name and dye her hair. And Fox--" F.W. who had been caressing Kate gently with his hands and lips. "Fox will have to change his name. Or at least translate it." 

"Bueno, it will be done. I will tell them to expect, and make welcome, Katherine Del San Diego and Guillermo El Zorro." 

**END**

(Or is the adventure just beginning?) 

* * *

Elements you must include: 
    
    
         -A voyeur or an act of being voyeuristic  
         -A search (for something, someone, or a telling of a search
         -in honor of all the people searching for fic  ) 
         -A fear of clowns 
         -A stalker (again can be of something, someone or a telling
         of a stalker - in honor of the stalkers of course  )
    

My Guilty Pleasures are: 
    
    
         MulderCaring for Scully
         Mulder in leather chaps
         Love at first Sight
         Destiny; that two souls are meant to be
         Big Walt to the rescue
    

My New Guilty Pleasure: 

Mulder in a black cape and mask  
  


#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to TCS1121


End file.
